[kingdom hearts] Sad, Sad Spider
Title: Sad, Sad Spider
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Pairing: Larxene/Naminé
Rating: PG
Summary: Larxene is a fairytale without morals. [for lorei at kh_request!]
Author's Note: One for my trio (Roxas, Naminé, Axel) post at kh_request, for lorei with the prompt: “You don't listen! You silly little girl.” For those who don’t know: Justine and Juliette are both pornographic novels by the Marquis de Sade, the man for whom sadism is named. (You can imagine what they’re like. No, I haven’t read them.) And though I love Larxene, the fact that she canonically reads Marquis de Sade freaks me right out. Anyway, enjoy!
_______________________________________________
Sad, Sad Spider
Naminé folds her sketchbook shut, tucks the crayons neatly away, and waits, hands in her lap. Larxene has a habit of doing this, of bringing night every now and then - but only the black webbing, never with its dewy droplets of stars or spun-silk moon. Always the cold, impenetrable, lightless night. At the very least, it is short. Opens, and in fifteen minutes closes with the sparkle of lightning, ushering in the sun again.
“You’re a stupid girl,” says Larxene, small feet treading lightly. “Did you know? It’s a bit sad.” Naminé says nothing; Larxene’s shadow falls over the table and she takes a seat opposite her pale little ghost. “But I like you. You know that. So why don’t we read together, you and I? I’ll even show you what the letters mean.”
“No thank you,” Naminé says plainly. She watches Larxene’s sharp eyebrows, never her eyes. They’re too dark. Onyx pebbles in pools of blue blood.
“Come now.” She pulls a small book from inside her coat. It is bound in leather, a thin wound running down the spine. The pages shine, dusted with gold. Beautiful. But it’s Larxene’s. It must read like headstones and sin. “Why not?”
“It’s bad.”
Larxene smiles. “Bad? They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. And look,” she flips the book onto its back; the title winks up in looping ink. “It’s called Justine. Doesn’t that sound pretty?”
“No thank you,” Naminé repeats. Many nights have taught her not to be curious - it’s clear from the way her eyes narrow the tiniest bit, eyebrows drawn slightly down, that Larxene doesn’t like the lesson she’s learned.
“It’s even got pictures,” she goes on, her voice coaxing like sour sugar. Her thin fingers search the book quickly, pages fluttering, paper butterfly wings. Finally, she turns the open book toward Naminé. “See?”
She only looks for a moment, then closes her eyes tightly, head in her hands. “I don’t want to see that.”
“Stupid, stupid girl,” sings Larxene. “Let’s begin. O thou my friend! The prosperity of Crime is like unto the lightning, whose - ”
“Larxene.”
Naminé takes her palms from where they cup her ears and sees the slightest hint of sun on the horizon; in the open door stands Marluxia, arms crossed.
“Yes?” Larxene plays for innocence, but Naminé can hear the annoyance.
“I thought Axel burned all your books.”
She sighs. “You philistines pay no attention to detail.”
“Come with me.” There isn’t room for argument. Marluxia doesn’t bother to wait, but turns on his heel, cloak gone from the doorway into the hall. Larxene closes the book, eyebrow twitching slightly, knuckles fading from yellow-pink to white.
“Don’t worry,” she tells Naminé as she leaves, winding her web to take with her. “I’m sure I’ve still got Juliette poking around somewhere.” She chuckles lightly at what Naminé assumes is her own joke.
When she’s gone, Naminé pulls her knees to her chest and shuts her eyes. Against the colors of her closed eyelids, she doesn’t have to see that shred of night still lingering in Larxene’s chair.
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Pairing: Larxene/Naminé
Rating: PG
Summary: Larxene is a fairytale without morals. [for lorei at kh_request!]
Author's Note: One for my trio (Roxas, Naminé, Axel) post at kh_request, for lorei with the prompt: “You don't listen! You silly little girl.” For those who don’t know: Justine and Juliette are both pornographic novels by the Marquis de Sade, the man for whom sadism is named. (You can imagine what they’re like. No, I haven’t read them.) And though I love Larxene, the fact that she canonically reads Marquis de Sade freaks me right out. Anyway, enjoy!
_______________________________________________
Sad, Sad Spider
Naminé folds her sketchbook shut, tucks the crayons neatly away, and waits, hands in her lap. Larxene has a habit of doing this, of bringing night every now and then - but only the black webbing, never with its dewy droplets of stars or spun-silk moon. Always the cold, impenetrable, lightless night. At the very least, it is short. Opens, and in fifteen minutes closes with the sparkle of lightning, ushering in the sun again.
“You’re a stupid girl,” says Larxene, small feet treading lightly. “Did you know? It’s a bit sad.” Naminé says nothing; Larxene’s shadow falls over the table and she takes a seat opposite her pale little ghost. “But I like you. You know that. So why don’t we read together, you and I? I’ll even show you what the letters mean.”
“No thank you,” Naminé says plainly. She watches Larxene’s sharp eyebrows, never her eyes. They’re too dark. Onyx pebbles in pools of blue blood.
“Come now.” She pulls a small book from inside her coat. It is bound in leather, a thin wound running down the spine. The pages shine, dusted with gold. Beautiful. But it’s Larxene’s. It must read like headstones and sin. “Why not?”
“It’s bad.”
Larxene smiles. “Bad? They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. And look,” she flips the book onto its back; the title winks up in looping ink. “It’s called Justine. Doesn’t that sound pretty?”
“No thank you,” Naminé repeats. Many nights have taught her not to be curious - it’s clear from the way her eyes narrow the tiniest bit, eyebrows drawn slightly down, that Larxene doesn’t like the lesson she’s learned.
“It’s even got pictures,” she goes on, her voice coaxing like sour sugar. Her thin fingers search the book quickly, pages fluttering, paper butterfly wings. Finally, she turns the open book toward Naminé. “See?”
She only looks for a moment, then closes her eyes tightly, head in her hands. “I don’t want to see that.”
“Stupid, stupid girl,” sings Larxene. “Let’s begin. O thou my friend! The prosperity of Crime is like unto the lightning, whose - ”
“Larxene.”
Naminé takes her palms from where they cup her ears and sees the slightest hint of sun on the horizon; in the open door stands Marluxia, arms crossed.
“Yes?” Larxene plays for innocence, but Naminé can hear the annoyance.
“I thought Axel burned all your books.”
She sighs. “You philistines pay no attention to detail.”
“Come with me.” There isn’t room for argument. Marluxia doesn’t bother to wait, but turns on his heel, cloak gone from the doorway into the hall. Larxene closes the book, eyebrow twitching slightly, knuckles fading from yellow-pink to white.
“Don’t worry,” she tells Naminé as she leaves, winding her web to take with her. “I’m sure I’ve still got Juliette poking around somewhere.” She chuckles lightly at what Naminé assumes is her own joke.
When she’s gone, Naminé pulls her knees to her chest and shuts her eyes. Against the colors of her closed eyelids, she doesn’t have to see that shred of night still lingering in Larxene’s chair.